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A Tale of Fraunces' Tavern 

A.D. 1765 
AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

RICHARD GRIFFIN 



New York 
Excelsior Publishing House 






Copyright, 1914 

BY 

RICHARD GRIFFIN 



NOV 13 1914 
0)C!A387524 



A TALE OF FRAUNCES TAVERN. A. D. 1765. 

PROLOGUE 

The year, one thousand, seven, sixty-five. 
The period when France and England strive, 
To thrust each other from the western shore. 
The Ecclefechan strips for iron war. 

The Lob Scouse Boy stood on the after poop. 
With fingers deeply in a bowl of soup. 
The Captain called him but he would not go. 
Because he did enjoy the lob scouse so. 

The contents of the bowl was very nice. 
And so he licked his fingers over twice. 
The Captain called again " ahoy, ahoy." 
" Bring me my soup, where is that Lob Scouse Boy." 

The boy now brings the bowl of boiling broth. 
The wandering Demons leap about the froth. 
Black Witch craft skips upon the fins of night. 
The Captain groans beneath a dreadful blight. 

A sulphurous sickly odor struck the air. 
The crew, all wondered how it came, oh where ! 
A spell of sadness filled the Captain's soul. 
The wandering Demons danced a farandole. 



Canto i 

The good Ship " Ecclefechan " gave a creak. 
The death watch in the bulkhead squeaked a squeak. 
The Surgeon shook his head and heaved a sigh. 
Observing that the sailor soon must die. 

3 



4 A TALE OF FRAUNCES TAVERN. . 

The Powder Monkey to the Captain sped. 
Bowed low his head, then touched his cap and said: 
" I bring you news from Wagstaff's dying bed. 
He soon will join the roll call of the dead." 

The Captain walked the deck with hasty stride. 
Then muttered to himself, " the Surgeon lied." 
It's all a lie, a hoax, a scurvy joke. 
The Guy will live, get well, he must not croak." 

That morning Johnny Wagstaff had been flogged. 
And now he lay near death, with brain half clogged. 
He moved his lips, then pointed to the clock; 
And faintly whispered, " send for Hiram Bock." 

The Captain stood beside the dying bunk. 
He held his nose as if he smelt a skunk. 
And seemed to say, " Oh hit him with a brick. 
These kind of people always make me sick." 

Young Wagstaff opened both his eyes and gazed, 
On Captain Hiram Bock who now amazed. 
Returned the sailors look, who smiled on him; 
Then spoke four simple words, " please douse that glim." 

The good ship " Ecclefechan " gave a lurch. 
Which quite upset the champion of the birch. 
He staggered, timbers creaked, out went the light. 
And all was grimy darkness, black as night. 

For many moments all was very still. 
Then came a voice, it gave them both a chill. 
Yea — through the darkness, came a dismal voice. 
Demons of water, fire, air rejoice! 

The dying sailor spoke ; " Sir Hiram Bock. 
Beware, repent, don't gibe, don't sneer, don't mock. 
Beware! your chain is forged, doomed, link on link. 
Beware ! You totter on an awful brink ! " 



A TALE OF FRAUNCES TAVERN. 5 

" I die, and yet we'll meet, yea, many times. 
Before it is too late, repent your crimes : 
The wandering Demons leap, heap coal on coal. 
Oh God have mercy on my erring soul." 

One gasp, one struggle, Wagstaff is no more. 
His troubles now are over, close the door. 
On such deep thoughts it is not wise to dwell. 
Oh Death: Oh Judgment, Purgatory, Hell! 

The victim of the cat o' nine tails sleeps. 
He's left his mates, his mess, he's gone for keeps. 
Up to the deck with careful hands they drag. 
The sailors body in a canvas bag. 

One of the crew, a pious, good old Bloke; 
Began to pray, the Captain quickly spoke. 
" Cut that yarn short, you superstitious dunce ! 
And throw the carrion overboard at once." 

Oh Captain Hiram Bock, remorseless mocker! 
Down went the bag to Davy Jones's locker. 
Poor sailor Johnny Wagstaff's soul I ween; 
Is dancing hornpipes now on Fiddlers Green. 

The Captain to the crew now made this speech. 
li any speak of Wagstaff's death, 'tis breach, 
Of discipline. Fll have my little joke. 
Fll stop his grog, and send him up in smoke! 

Next day at noon they sighted Sandy Hook. 
The Captain grit his teeth and closed his book. 
The log is finished for the voyage now. 
Black clouds are hanging on the Captain's brow. 

The Lob Scouse Boy, poor simple cracked brained lad. 
Without sufficient wit for good or bad. 
With canine instinct chafes with bated breath. 
Scenting calamity, despair and death. 



6 A TALE OF FRAUNCES TAVERN. . 

'Twas in the evening of a lovely day. 

They came to anchor in the lower bay. 

They squared the yards, the anchor rattled, fell. 

The officer reported " all is well." 

The Captain jumped into his gig and roared, 
Let every Mother's son remain on board. 
If any leave this ship ere I come back: 
I'll trice him up and flog him blue and black. 

Take well to heart my orders worthy friends. 
For if you don't, you'll have to make amends. 
You know I mean exactly what I say. 
The Captain plied the oars and rowed away. 

The Boosin whistled through one crooked fang. 
" By gosh, this beats the bugs, I'll leave this gang. 
The Quarter Master said, " I'm really vexed. 
The Powder Monkey scratched his nose, perplexed. 



INTR'ACTE 



One member of the crew stood all alone. 
The tears were in his eyes, he gave one moan. 
Another moment — listen — hear that splash? 
The lad is in the water, makes a dash. 

Strikes boldly out, swims for the nearest shore. 
With lusty strokes, full breath and well set jaw. 
His heart is firm, is true, without alloy. 
God bless his soul ! It is the Lob Scouse Boy. 



Canto 2 

Crook'd Pearl Street, ever turning left and right, 

More gloomy now than ever, casts a blight, 

On man, on beast, on every living thing. 

Chilling the Watchman's cry, " God save the King ! " 

The lamp light in the lane is very faint. 
It shines upon a figure cloaked and quaint. 
The figure squirms and crawls along so sleek. 
Just like some slimy musk rat in a creek. 

Weird dread mysterious powers seem to blight, 
This ill conditioned wanderer of the night, 
Sir Hiram Bock. Black vengeance seems to beckon, 
The evil genius of the " Ecclefechan." 

The Captain starts, transfixed; what can it be? 
Both eyes are bulging ; look ! what does he see ? 
He sees a Court of Justice, and a Judge. 
He tries to turn and run, he cannot budge. 

7. 



8 INTR'ACTE. • 

The Judge sits dignified in wig and gown : 

He looks upon the Captain with a frown. 

The Captain's eye meets his, (he chokes for breath.) 

It is the sailor who was flogged to death. 

The Judge and sailor all in one combined. 

The Captain now the prisoner; confined, 

Within the dock. The lowly sailor lad. 

Raised from the dead confronts this cringing cad. 

Oh man of sin, Oh Yap, Oh Captain Bock! 

You are my prisoner within the dock. 

Your sentence death, you crawling beast, you Muck! 

I'll have your life before eight bells have struck. 

Forth from the ground a penetrating stench, 
Arose, enveloping the Judge's bench. 
Mixed with a cloud of slimy, greenish hue. 
That hid the sailor from the Captain's view. 

The Captain fell upon his face abashed. 
From every side a dreadful tumult crashed. 
Plutonian cimbals struck a tardo clang. 
Sweet Madrigals of wandering Demons sang. 

When hush, the music ceased, a silence came. 
All prone the Captain lay, his massive frame, 
Convulsed with apprenhension, begging time: 
More time, for expiation of his crime. 

He shrieks, he howls, he feels a cold damp hand. 
Upon his brow. No earthly red hot brand. 
Could shake him now. He turns, he sees, Oh joy ! 
Can it be true ? It is the Lob Scouse Boy ! 

The Captain clasped the lad and wept aloud: 
Yes, this proud Noble, trembling, all cowed, 
Begged this poor menial boy to help him now. 
And save him from himself, but how ! Oh how ! 



INTR'ACTE. 

The chimes of Trinity began to toll. 
The Lob Scouse Boy, taking the leading roll, 
Conducted Captain Bock with tottering walk. 
Along the narrow lanes of Old New York. 

The boy looked keenly as they went their way, 
For some safe place to rest until next day. 
He reads a sign board " welcome man and beast. 
Old Fraunces' Tavern — now they'll have a feast." 



Canto 3 

Old Fraunces' Tavern, famous far and near. 
For good old Yorkshire pudding, ale and beer, 
Now meets the travellers gaze, (supreme it reigns.) 
Clearing the clouds that mingle through their brains. 

They ring the bell, it answers soft and deep, 
Rousing the faithful Porter from his sleep. 
He gets the key, he turns it in the lock, 
Opens the door and welcomes Captain Bock. 

The Porter leads them to a room in back. 
Shrouded in darkness, snuffy, dismal, black. 
Lights them a candle in the candle stick, 
Bids them good night and then gets out right quick. 

The gallant Captain Bock all in a grouch. 
Now laid himself to rest upon a couch. 
And told the boy to sleep upon the floor. 
On yonder rug stretched quite across the door. 

Soon all is still, all wrapt in sleep profound. 
Black witch craft claims its consecrated ground. 
Fantastic forms chasse from out their cavern. 
Deep silence holds its sway in Fraunces' Tavern. 



lo INTR'ACTE. 

• 
When suddenly there came a piercing shriek. 
As if some fiend had thrust its red hot beak, 
Straight through the heart of Captain Hiram Bock, 
Who screamed and howled, transported by the shock. 

All Fraunces' Tavern now is wide awake. 
The house begins to totter and to quake. 
Sharp shrieks belch forth again, and yet again. 
The halls are crowded with excited men. 

They batter down the door with axe and sledge. 
They enter with a rush — a human wedge. 
They stopped, they gasped, amazed, too late! too late! 
God help his sinful soul, Oh dreadful fate! 

That which you sow you certainly will reap. 
The Captain lies all huddled in a heap. 
Beside the cot, the sailor Wagstaff stands, 
Waving aloft on high two bloody hands. 

He spat upon the cold form on the bed. 
He hissed these words above the mangled dead, 
*' Remember what I said, you Yap, you Muck, 
I'd have your life before eight bells had struck." 

There came a strange mysterious wind that blew, 
Green smoke about, it hid the form from view. 
It awed the crowd, it kept them all at bay. 
And when it cleared, the ghost had fled away. 

The Lob Scouse Boy stood shouting, " grab him, stab 

him! 
The sailor, see the sailor, nab him, jab him! " 
Above all this commotion, all these yells, 
The chimes of Trinity rang out eight bells. 



EPILOGUE 



Deep in the shadow of the City wall. 
Close to the sacristy of old Saint Paul, 
There stands an obelisk of crisket rock, 
Which lauds the memory of Hiram Bock. 

One autumn night, the watchman on his round, 
Across the churchyard stopped, there on the ground, 
Behold! a human form, so still, so dank. 
With dew ; stretched lifeless on a grassy bank. 

This world of sin was not for such as thee. 
Poor boy! Upon his Captain's grave died he. 
Just like some faithful dog that don't survive. 
His master's death 'gainst fate he could not strive. 

The moonlight shines upon a childish face. 
A smile is on that face, oh state of grace ! 
He went to meet his God. No trouble more. 
The Lob Scouse Boy has reached another shore. 



II 



SEVENTEEN GANDERS FROM FLANDERS. 



Canto i 



Seventeen Ganders, 
Hailing from Flanders, 

Are taking a voyage together. 

How the saucy brig flies. 
Under Southern skies, 

Enjoying most beautiful weather. 



The cage of these Ganders, 
Imported from Flanders, 

Is lashed to the forward deck. 

Quite close to the life boat, 
That can't sink, it must float. 

So handy in case of wreck. 



The Mate Jimmy Sankey. 

Rheumatic and cranky. 
Brought up on the bottle and rope. 

Quite spavined with hard knocks. 

Unsightly, he stops clocks. 
He walks with a droop in his slope. 



Jim don't like these Ganders, 
Imported from Flanders. 

He thinks it Tommy rot. 

He feels that he's all right, 
Then waits for a dark night, 

To carry out his plot. 

12 



SEVENTEEN GANDERS FROM FLANDERS. 13 

At last all is ready. 

One shove, quick and steady. 
There, overboard, Hi ! a great lark. 

The cagefull of Ganders, 

Imported from Flanders, 
Goes floating away in the dark. 



INTR'ACTE. 

On the Texas coast, 

On a hickory post, 
Straight as a crooked arrow. 

Like a twisted bat. 

All hunched up sat, 
One narrow minded sparrow. 

The sparrow winked, 

Then cutely blinked. 
See that speck on the ocean! 

He craned his neck. 

Now clickety Cleck! 
There comes a great commotion. 

The Penguin bright, 

With head upright. 
Clawed at the Petrel Blinker. 

The Dodo dropped, 

Yes down he flopped. 
The Magpie piped, " the clinker." 

The bi peds agree, 
The speck on the sea, 

Is nearing the shore. The sage, 
Doctor Owl says it is, 
Don't you see it means biz. 

A regular floating cage. 

The cage takes a ride. 

The incoming tide, 
Sweeps up on the rocks with a dash. 

One thump and a roar. 

One bump on the shore. 
The cage opens wide with a crash. 

14 



INTR'ACTE. 15 



No gang plank required: 

Bedraggled and tired, 
ine passengers land, very fine. 

The seventeen Gande^fs, 

Imported from Flanders, 
March up on the rocks in a line. 

Plain truth is so rare. 

The wise men declare. 
This is a recorded fact. 

The feathered by standers, 

Stood watching these Ganders. 
And now for the second act. 



Canto 2 

Up high in a crack, 

Of a rock murky black: 
Comes music like rattling bones. 

Where lively and dappy. 

All peaceful and happy, 
Live seventeen Vinegerones. 

The poor hungry Ganders, 

So lately from Flanders ; 
They walked with a limp and a moan. 

They pricked up their ears. 

They heard, oh poor dears. 
The squeak of the Vinegerone. 

Eager and pert. 

Ever alert; 
The Ganders have groans in their quacks. 

Over the stones : 

Vinegerones, 
Are taking a stroll, oh how lax ! 



i6 INTR'ACTE. . 

The Vinegerones, 

The Ganders all bones, 
Confront one another with squeaks and quacked groans. 

The Ganders breathe deep, 

Then make a big leap, 
And instantly swallow the Vinegerones. 

They swallow them whole. 

Each one a hot coal: 
A burning hot coal, Oh the sting! 

The bugs still alive. 

In each crop, they strive. 
The poisonous bugs have their fling. 

That night on the rocks. 

A strange paradox. 
Oh poor little birds, such a fix. 

The seventeen Ganders. 

The pride of old Flanders ; 
Are safe in the land of the Styx. 

Oh the drones, Oh the groans. 

Of the Vinegerones. 
The stars looked down on the graves of the Ganders. 

The whiz of a bat, 

The squeal of a rat. 
Is all the dirge sung o'er the birdies fro;n Flanders. 



QUESTIONS 

''Why has Minnie lost a tooth?" 
Someone gave her mouth a blow. 
Oh how shocking! How uncouth! 
This is not artistic, no. 
Now when little Minnie smiles. 
Down her throat we look three miles. 

" Why is Johnny's jaw unhinged? " 
Johnny tried to talk too much. 
Bricks went flying, Johnny cringed, 
Someone held him in a clutch. 
Johnny spoke bad words ; Oh fie ! 
Johnny's jaw is now awry. 

" Why is Michael's ear lobe split? 
Why has Michael lost his teeth? " 
Michael got an awful hit. 
Michael staggered, fell beneath, 
Dennis Dugan's fisticate. 
Michael is bilabiate. 

" Why does Alfred eat like that, 
Standing near the mantelpiece. 
Patient, docile, gentle brat. 
Like a little golden fleece? 
See him rub himself and cry." 
" Father knows the reason why." 

" Why does little Mabel blush? " 
" She is musing on the past." 
What a pretty rosy flush. 
Still she hears the trumpet blast. 
Still she hears the babbling brook. 
Read it in my other book. 
17 



i8 QUESTIONS. 

" Why does Winfred hold her tongue? 
Does she really hit the pipe? 
Has she got a damaged lung ? " 
" She is quite a gutter snipe. 
Symptoms now no longer vague. 
Troubled with bubonic plague. 

" Why has teacher that long switch. 
(So methodical, so calm.) " 
Gentle Ruth poor little witch, 

Now holds out one soft pink palm. 

Whiz and whack — a stinging slap. 

All is over — just one rap. 

"Why does that strange man appear? 

See the forceps in his grasp. 

Like some Oriental Seer. 

Hear his voice ; Oh what a rasp ! 

Shocking man, Oh frightful work ! 

Teeth from jaws he loves to jerk." 

" Why is Phoebe Snow all mud? " 
She strolled by the river edge. 
Yester eve there was a flood. 
Phoebe went too near the ledge. 
In in the muddle puddle fell. 
Now alas ! She looks like — well ? 

Why oh why should such things be. 
All the people in these verses. 
Joining in the Devil's spree: 

First class subjects for the hearses. 
Chew the rag, pick the bone. 
Let the Devil get his own. 



TAFFY ON A STICK 



Jack in a box. 

Taps on the rocks. 
Produces the taffy and starts in to Hck quick. 

Old Mother Goose, 

Smiling lets loose. 
Her children all daffy the day of their pic nic. 

Little Red Riding Hood fell in the gutter. 
Grandmother picked her out thumping her. 
Little Red Riding Hood made a great splutter. 
Grandmother kept right on bumping her. 

The man in the moon felt sad at this. 

To see all these things go mad amiss. 

He hit the old lady with one of his beams. 

That sent her a scooting to Bun Land of dreams. 

The wolf sat yawning near the gate. 
He pricked up his ears, winking sniffy. 
He bristled at Grandma, snarled with hate. 
Then gobbled her up in a jiffy. 

Old King Cole. 

Merry old soul. 

The monarch of Bun Land, 

Promoter of Fun Land, 

Is taking a nap, 

And don't give a rap. 

The Fiddlers three. 
Were out on a spree, 
And never came home till late. 
19 



20 TAFFY ON A STICK. 

And when they did come, 
All three on the bum. 
Were in a very bad state. 

Fiddler number one disheveled. 
Fiddler number two bedeviled. 
Fiddler number three, Oh woe! 
Lost his fiddle, smashed his bow. 

Barbara Smith, 
Scratched herself with, 
The broken bow. 
The Fiddlers three. 
Yelled out, " Oh gee." 
" Go slow, go slow." 

Little Maude's spider. 
Not now beside her 
On mischief bent. 
Entered the tent. 

Oh ho ! 

Woe woe! 
The Queen of hearts is stung. 
When presto ; bing, bang, bung 1 

The Queen began to howl and kick. 
The King aroused, now grabbed his stick. 
And said, you minx! you awkward cow. 
Please close your face and stop that row. 
Or else Fll slit your lip you shrew. 
And slip a collar button through. 
Then clinch it well inside and out. 
I'll teach you how to quench that shout. 

I'll box your ear. 

My pretty dear. 

The Queen to appease the old King. 
Now tried very sweetly to sing. 



TAFFY ON A STICK. 21 

" The beggars are coming to town, 
Hard pressed by the old man in brown." 
When who should arrive but the piggie from Bonner: 
Quite minus his wig and without any honor. 

The pig caught the poor ugly duckling; 
(How could he expect it would luck bring,) 
Danced her around through the hall : 
Ate her up feathers and all. 

Liking it better than roast. 

Devil fermented on toast. 

Such dancing, such wriggles. 

All crazy, all giggles ! 

The Fun Land, 

Of Bun Land, 

Is all full of wiggles ! 

When listen, hear! 
That sound so queer! 

The Heavens flash, the thunder howls. 
Just like ten thousand billion owls. 
That rumbling is not a fake. 
The tumbling rocks proclaim the quake. 

Before you could say pittie pat. 

The King and Queen are both smashed flat. 

Flatter than a kite. 

Evil, fateful night. 

Pluto brought along his taper. 
That is quite the proper caper. 
Earth quakes always light up fires. 
Burning lakes engulf the liars. 

It happened thus. 
Oh what a muss. 



22 TAFFY ON A STICK. 

Poor puss in boots, 

Away it scoots. 

Then falls upon its back. 

And finds itself, 

Poor little elf. 

Not far from Gill and Jack. 

The wind got sick of blowing east. 

The Salamander had a feast. 

Half starved Hyenas were a pest. 

The wind now turned and blew south west. 

Which sent the smoke another way, 

And quenched the flames on Hop Scotch Bay. 

The Topsy Turveys try to mop 
The tigers on the fence. 
The taxidermist saves his shop. 
But at a great expense. 

The list of roast. 

Includes almost, 

The contents of the ark. 

The little frog. 

And Polly Wog. 

Are served on hemlock bark. 

Little boy blue. 

Is in a stew. 

With grated mice on top. 

These'dainties tough, 

Are quite enough, 

To make an ostrich flop. 

The earth still quakes. 

The kitten bakes. 

Men are scorched like wisp. 

Oh dreadful cries, 

The red flames rise, 

Roasting them to crisp. 



TAFFY ON A STICK. 23 

Baked Alaska never harms: 
It always yanks my vote. 
Muskrat liver ever charms, 
The palate of a goat. 

Sometimes I think I'll change my trade, 

And deal in flounders fins. 

Or hunt throughout some everglade, 

For Tabby pole cat skins, 

Or else perhaps I'll change my mug, 

And serve a sentence in the jug. 

Never be still, work with a will. 

Chewing the rags in a paper mill. 

Excuse me for a minute and a half. 
Excuse me while I go and feed the calf. 
I've thought long on the subject Mother dear. 
And have decided I feel very queer. 

Good bye: 
Don't cry ! 

I've said quite enough. 
Cut it out, the hot stuff. 

I might go on and demonstrate. 
Forever at a fearful rate. 
And yet I won't, I'll make it short, 
Just like the day I carved my wart. 

The donkey brays. 
The champagne pops. 
My will obeys. 
My quill pen drops. 

So ends my taffy. 
Don't think me daffy. 



TO A DODO 



All hail, thou mighty feathered dolt. 
Weird emblem of the thunderbolt. 
Thy fame, Oh Madagascar's pride. 
Throughout the world is spreading wide. 

Poor Dodo, now in realms unknown. 
Forever left thy once proud throne. 
Quite gone, a veritable Guy fled. 
Thy very name a joke, poor bi ped. 
Thy graceful beak is seen no more. 
Thy voice no longer holds the floor. 
Thy swinging walk, engaging smile. 
No longer animates thy isle. 

Quite true it is, poor bird maligned. 
That many people feel inclined. 
Oh Dodo dear to use thy name, 
Mixed up with expletives profain. 

The politician of the day. 

Just like some wild beast turned at bay. 

Who execrates, thus doth berate, 

The opposition Candidate. 

You Dodo Rook, I'll fix you yet. 

You Chump, I'll get your scalp you bet. 

You Dodo Owl, I'll break your rungs. 

Jump down your throat, stamp on your lungs. 

In one day more, you Dodo Jack, 

I'll have you flat upon your back. 

But stop, Oh Dodo dear, I grieve. 
My heart beats fast, a great upheave: 

24 



TO A DODO. 25 



To think that any doubtful word, 
Is ever Hnked with such a bird. 

Good Dodo unexcelled, now rest. 
Secure, you are the very best. 
Of birds, bright star, your glory fixed. 
Oh purest gem, all gold unmixed. 
Now Dodo sleep, you stand immure. 
Forever great, your fame secure. 

The maelstrom may be dried up. 

The mother dog may lose her pup. 

The oat meal cake be turned to wheat. 

The tabby cat her kittens eat. 

The beetle toot his bugle call. 

Niagara's torrent cease to fall. 

So Dodo dear have courage now. 

And scratch the cob webs from thy brow. 

Consider, all the fame great bird. 
Bestowed on thee, yea every word, 
Of adulation far beneath. 
Thy rich desert, thy laurel wreath. 

Hold up your beak, and don't stop. Watch. 
Be sure you seek the high top notch. 
Pull down your chin, stick up your lip. 
And then you'll never get the pip. 
Oh gentle Dodo pray be calm. 
You cannot now be brought to harm. 
Thy past secure, thy future gleams. 
All sunshine bright with radiant beams. 



SNOOKY BILLY 



Why is Billy all unstrung? 
See the nasty little sneak, 
Standing on the ladder rung, 
Puffing out his pimpled cheek. 
Pretty Emma Whitehouse shook, 
Billy. Now he's quite forsook. 

How is Billy's juglar vein? 
See the bruise upon his jaw! 
Snooky Billy has a pain. 
Got it in a corner store. 
One good punch upon his mug. 
Then he landed in the jug. 
Little wifie got him out: 
Paid the fine that set him free. 
Got a carriage for the lout: 
Brought him home in secrecy. 
Then he hit his wife a swot. 
Took a nap. Oh beastly sot. 

Billy lives upon his wife. 
Billy don't approve of work. 
Billy lives a double life. 
Billy should have been a Turk. 
Fond of mottled turtle doves. 
Capable of many loves. 
Wifie knows the life he leads. 
But she is a faithful spouse. 
Quite condones his evil deeds. 
Though she sees he is a louse. 
Willingly accepts the pill. 
Calling him her Snooky Bill. 

26 



SNOOKY BILLY. 2^ 



Saintly woman, faithful wife. 
Since you first became a bride; 
All your days one hopeless strife, 
Trying hard his sins to hide. 
Turning from old friends well tried. 
When you took his part, you lied. 
Foolish wife, misguided, blind ! 
Have you not one single tear, 
For that lost one. How unkind! 
How you wronged your birother dear. 
You have made your rocky bed. 
Sleep upon it, ram your head. 

Billy's trade is chewing rags. 
All his teeth are badly nicked. 
Sad result of many jags. 
Snooky has been lately licked. 
Something in his brain has clicked. 
Like a chicken roughly picked. 

Gentle Reader, draw the latch. 
Duck your head and close the hatch. 



SWEENY TOD 

The day of the execution broke, 
The sun extra brightly shone ; a cloak. 
Of darkness permeated all, 
Within the jail, and cast a pall. 
Upon the keepers, matrons, turnkeys, 
Causing a wholesale, deep gol durn wheeze. 

Oh Sweeny Tod, Oh Sweeny Tod. 
You think you are a model Cod, 
Because you dine at dirty Dick's 
And give poor Sinners rickety jicks. 
Because you are the hangman, high, 
In great repute where e'er you ply. 
Your trade upon poor fallen wrecks. 
And earn your fame by breaking necks. 

All is bustle in the jail. 
Joyful rapture wags its tail, 
Expectation, all on wing. 
In the prison yard, pong ping. 
Little birds their carols sing. 
Dancing round a rosy ring. 

One man sang another tune. 

Tune of " slip knot Mike Magoon.'* 

Hapless wretch, the poor condemned. 

Iron bars about him hemmed, 

Holding him as in a vice. 

'Til he paid his awful price. 

Here in his cell we find him now, 
With heated brain and fevered brow. 
Gazing around with a ghastly stare. 
Paroxysms of rage and despair. 

28 



SWEENY TOD. 29 

All of a sudden he starts with fear. 
A heavy footstep falls on his ear. 
The jailer enters with a tray. 
The man's allowance, for that day. 
Setting it down he then withdrew, 
Locked tight the door and barred it too. 

The man now left alone again. 
Tormented with the curse of Cain 
Strides up and down his dismal cell, 
Trying in vain remorse to quell. 
Trying his guilty conscience to kill. 
Trying the thoughts on his future to still. 

At last he pauses near the tray, 

Of food that had been left that day. 

He sees a long knife gleaming there. 

And overcome with deep despair. 

Groans out aloud, " hfe for a life." 

Puts forth his hand, grasps firm the knife. 

Now from his presence we must turn. 
Now to the Sheriff's room adjourn, 
'Tis nearly noon, the time draws nigh. 
When the poor criminal, must die. 

The Sheriff, with a careless air 
His mind serene and free from care: 
Looks at his watch and then says " well, 
It's time to move," He rings a bell ; 
The turnkey smilingly appears. 
The looked for order greets his ears. 

" Fetch the prisoner here " the Sheriff cries. 
" Hurry up too, the time quickly flies. 
Don't poke along as you usually do. 
Bring him to me, and quickly too." 



30 SWEENY TOD. 

The man hurries off the culprit to bring. 
And with joy does jump, skip, whistle and sing. 
Again the iron door swings in. 
Oh wicked act, Oh deadly sin! 

Behold upon the cells damp floor. 
Haggard and stiff and drenched in gore. 
With bleeding throat the man did lie. 
Quite rigid, cold, thus did he die. 
The bells rang out a fruitless toll. 
I fear the man has lost his soul. 
I fear the Devil comes out first. 
The blackest angel slakes his thirst. 

That night a sad_ faced man sat up. 
He did not taste the flowing cup 
He'd had an unsuccessful day. 
The turkey buzzard lost its prey. 
He don't feel like a model. Cod. 
The sad faced man is Sweeny Tod. 

The bate is bit, the fish is hooked. 
I greatly fear your goose is cooked. 
Now let the welkin ring! All screech, 
" Oh Sweeny Tod you are a peach ! " 

Oh Sweeny Tod, don't be a loon. 
There'll be another hanging soon. 
Begin the ditty, start your tune. 
Your song of '' Slip knot Mike Magoon." 

We all will try to join you in, 
The chorus, go ahead and win. 
Oh — yellow goats. Molasses ! 
Oh Ephraim Manasses ! 

The tea leaves circle there and here, 
I see thy future written clear. 
I see thy corner barber shop. 
I hear a dreadful hollow flop. 



SWEENY TOD. 31 



I see thy victim stumble, pitch; 

Sink through the floor and reach the ditch 

Fleet ditch. And now I plainly see, 

Suspended on a gallows tree. 

Thy form. Oh Sweeny Tod. Repent. 

Relentless fortune makes a dent. 

I see a surging multitude. 
I see thy swollen tongue protrude. 
Sweeny has munched his own sweet pill. 
And cashed the last receipted bill. 



TO THE GUILLOTINE 



What a nifty Guillotine. 
Perfect in its many parts. 
Quite the greatest killer seen, 
In this world of manly arts. 
Very sharp : so slick, so keen. 
What a pretty Guillotine! 
Labor saving; useful pet. 
Mirth provoking; yes, you bet! 

Did you ever see it slice? 
Did you ever hear it clack? 
Dulcit, beautiful, precise. 
See it pile up stack on stack. 
Human heads, so neat, so clean. 
What a fruitful Guillotine ! 
Dropping heads like falling stars, 
From the bloody planet Mars. 

Gallows, chopping block and rack. 
When compared with thee, art slow. 
Thou hast such a happy knack. 
Bungle ? Never ! Oh dear no ! 
Just one clip, thou gem, great Queen! 
Tittivating Guillotine ! 
Ever sliding, chipping midget, 
Fascinating, hacking fidget. 

Once they sought to banish thee. 
From the land from whence thou earnest. 
But the French are clanish. We, 
All rejoice. Thou art the gamest, 
Sport, all brilliancy, all sheen. 
Blessings on thee. Guillotine ! 

32 



TO THE GUILLOTINE. 33 



Pie bald, scientific tinker. 

Cat like, nimble, bloody drinker. 

Useful instrument. Sublime! 
Like some rare exotic delf. 
May we never see the time, 
When they place thee on the shelf. 
Thou art such a grand machine. 
Retributive Guillotine ! 
Thrusting heads with gory locks, 
Slopping, popping in the box. 

The Guillotine is up on high. 
Now glut thyself with necks galore. 
*' Excelsior," thy battle cry : 
Great advocate of ruddy gore. 
Thy glory be forever green. 
Ever majestic Guillotine! 

Hear it thump ! 

What a bump! 

Hear it smash! 

What a crash ! 
The greatest seller yet. 
Oh labor saving pet ! 



LEGEND OF THE GAP OF DUNLOE 



The purple mountain rises up. 
That mighty headland stands abrupt : 
Defiant, proud, while far below, 
Mysterious shades flit too and fro. 

The Gap of Dunloe turns and twists. 
Obstructed by dark bluish mists. 
Even at noon day, shadows creep. 
Along the black ravine, so deep. 

One cottage stands there by itself. 
Its owner lives alone for pelf. 
He is a miser, stingy, close : 
A money lender, mean, morose. 

Across that pretty grassy dell. 

The cot; where Geoffrey Lynch doth dwell. 

Stands weirdlike, solitary, prim : 

Within a rocky chasm, grim. 

There comes a pattering of rain. 

Just as the day begins to wane. 

A light gleams through the window pane. 

The place is free from earthly stain. 

Angel of death canst thou unroll, 
The fate of Geoffrey Lynchers soul. 
Is he in bliss, or does he bake. 
Or bubble in the fiery lake? 

Oh what is taking place beyond, 
The fringe that hides the cancelled bond. 

34 



LEGEND OF THE GAP OF DUNLOE. 35 

What has the process brought about ? 
What is the justice meted out? 

Saint Peter stands before the portal, 
And says, " begone, thou art immortal. 
Oh poor lost soul without a crown. 
Thy residence is further down." 

The flaming sword on high now flashed. 
Poor Geoffrey Lynch slunk off abashed. 
He fell through space, ten trillion miles; 
And found himself between two stiles. 

Old father Abraham stood near. 
Athwart one stile he held a spear. 
Then pointed to the other stile. 
And spoke with goblinistic smile. 

I see you wear no wedding gown. 
Thy residence is further down. 
Look ! see that steep descending path. 
Please go and take thy brimstone bath. 

Geoffrey obeys, and now too late. 
Stands knocking at another gate. 
It is the Devil who appears. 
With fluted horns and gothic ears. 

The Devil said, " this is a treat. 
Have I the honor now to greet. 
Some client fresh from cooler climes, 
Encrusted well with many crimes ? " 

Now the miser all elated. 
Cleared his throat, and simply stated, 
" I am Geoffrey Lynch kind Sir. 
While on earth I made some stir." 



36 LEGEND OF THE GAP OF DUNLOE. 

The Devil staggered back, turned green. 
His rage was frightful to be seen. 
He snorted, foamed ; his teeth he ground ; 
He lashed his tail around and round. 

The Devil spake. " You putrid peach ! 
I know you now, you stingy leech ! 
You are not worthy of a cell, 
In any self respecting Hell." 

At this tirade, old Geoffrey Lynch, 
Said to the Devil ; " loose the cinch ; 
Where shall I go, my debt to pay. 
Porter of Limbo, tell me, pray." 

The Devil pointed up to earth, 

And said, " resume the same old berth. 

Thy punishment will be to haunt, 

Thy former home. Begone ! Avaunt ! " 

Oh Geoffrey Lynch, oh man of woe! 

Not fit to live in Hell below, 

Forever and forever twist, 

Thy grinding wheel, thy sulphurous grist. 

Oh Gap of Dunloe, beauteous spot. 
Blurred with one stigma, just one blot. 
The self same house where Geoffrey sold, 
His own immortal soul for gold. 

Throughout the country everywhere, 

The Irish peasantry declare. 

The house is haunted by the sprite. 

Of Geoffrey Lynch who roams at night. 

Lost soul, forever gulp thy pill ; 
Though yet on earth, condemned to grill. 



LEGEND OF THE GAP OF DUNLOE. 37 

Forever roast, a glowing fagot. 

Oh Geoffrey Lynch, poor rotten maggot. 

Mind your business, shun the fight. 
Let the lost soul scratch and bite. 
Stand firm, be steadfast, firm ; don't flinch. 
Avoid the house of Geoffrey Lynch. 



PENDENNIS McGUIRE 



Pendennis McGuire had worked hard all day. 
From morning till night had been pitching the hay. 
He felt hot and tired ; he coughed and he wheezed. 
Pendennis McGuire the coffee pot seized. 

He filled up the coft'ee pot out at the pump : 
Then sat himself down on an old oaken stump. 
He rested the coffee pot brim full of water, 
Upon a flat rock ; alas he'd not oughter. 
The coffee pot brought a fat bucket of sorrow. 
Pendennis McGuire must die ere tomorrow. 

His friend Micky Flannigan, passing that way : 
Called out, "hi Pendennis McGuire, you jay; 
Come help me along, Pm in need of a crutch ; 
You see, I have taken a wee drop too much." 

Pendennis McGuire, obligingly quick. 
Assisted his friend, the great Flannigan Mick. 
Escorted him safe to his home on the plain. 
Forgetting his own little nest in the lane. 

A blithe squirming centipede; smilingly smug. 
With ears pointed forward; inscrutable bug! 
All weary with walking, with legs full of kinks. 
Now closes his eyes and takes forty two winks. 

Oh innocent slumber, refreshing, reviving. 

So mystical, cristical, blue devil driving. 

The Grand Mucky Muck brings the High Rinky Dink ! 

The centipede wakes and then calls for a drink. 

38 



PENDENNIS McGUIRE. 39 



The coffee pot gleams, 'tis of double blocked tin. 
The bug scents the sparkling water within. 
He raises his head, makes a hop, in he dashes. 
And up to his chin in the liquid he splashes. 



The coffee pot makes a superb swimming pool. 

Refreshing, relaxing, delightfully cool. 

The centipede drinks to his fill with delight. 

Then crawls up the spout and declares it, " all right." 

He stretches himself almost ready to bust. 

Shuts his eyes; takes a nap; the sleep of the just. 

The clouds overhead become blacker and blacker. 
Stentorian tones ring out, *' back her quick, smack her." 
Wagon wheels grate, causing bright sparks of fire. 
Out jumps the hero; Pendennis McGuire. 



Pendennis McGuire, staggering, weary; 
Wild staring and glaring, bloodshot and bleary. 
Rum sodden, quarrelsome, ready to burst. He, 
Looks for the coffee pot, desperate, thirsty. 



There on the rock, gleams the coffee pot, dim. 
Flowing with water, quite up to the brim. 
Pendennis McGuire grabs quick at the handle. 
I fear he is burning both ends of his candle. 



He places the spout of the coffee pot deep, 

Down his throat, takes a drink, gives a choke, then a leap. 

Oh horror of horrors, unfortunate gulp! 

His gullet is chuck full of poisonous pulp. 

Pendennis McGuire, your chance is now zero. 

The centipede gets in its work like a hero. 



40 PENDENNIS McGUIRE. ^ 

The centipede sticks in his throat, out of reach. 
It can't be choked up; it sticks like a leech. 
Pendennis McGuire falls down in a spasm. 
Then gives in his checks for eternities chasm. 
His cat runs away ; his dog has a cry. 
And this is the end of Pendennis ; poor guy ! 



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